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by Vingtieme



Category: Outcast - Rosemary Sutcliff, SUTCLIFF Rosemary - Works
Genre: Companionship, Dogs, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vingtieme/pseuds/Vingtieme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Beric is cast out, Rhiada and Gelert are equally heartsick. They find solace in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [fawatson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/gifts).



The brindled hound slunk home that night, dejected, with ears drooping and snout low to the ground. He knew not his transgression, only that his master was very angry with him. Still, Beric had always forgiven his wrongdoing before. If Gelert only waited, surely Beric would come feed him in the morning, and all would be well.

When he approached the houseplace of Cunori, the pack gave tongue in customary greeting, but Gelert knew that he must not provoke Beric’s sire, who disliked hearing their voices if no stranger was near. So Gelert silently curled up in his usual place in the yard, ignoring the new pups who pulled playfully at his ears until they tumbled away to wrestle each other. He needed to be in his place when Beric came, or Beric might not forgive him. If he was not there, Beric would not fondle his ears and speak to him kindly, and he certainly would not give him any tidbit of leftover venison. His mouth had been watering over Guinear’s cooking all day. No, he must wait. And wait he did.

 

* * *

 

 

Rhiada trudged home that night, after the council fire, with a countenance much the same as the hound’s. Unlike Gelert, he had no shame over his own conduct – but a shame on behalf of his clan, deeper than the dark sea, boiled malevolently in his belly. It was absolutely unconscionable to expel a brother for something he had not done. Rhiada had lived through hard times before the boy had ever been taken under Cunori’s wing, and he was sure he would live through hard times to come. Beric was not responsible for the clan’s illness or famine, but it would make no difference. Rhiada hoped against hope that the clan would come to its senses when it saw that conditions did not improve after Beric’s departure, but desperate men are blinder than those who are truly sightless. They see what they like to see. Henceforth, every evil that came to the clan would be blamed on the effects of Cunori’s son, and every ray of hope would be attributed to casting him out. Men cling to blame in lean days like they cling to their weapons in battle. Blame is the easiest way to combat despair. It is also the most malignant, eating its way through all sense and compassion. Rhiada knew that there was nothing more he could have said to the men around the fire that night, but regret clutched at his belly all the same. The image of Beric alone in the wilds, afraid and confused, kept him waking through the night, and the pale of dawn had crept into the sky before sleep took the blind harper at last.

 

* * *

 

 

Gelert woke to the first light of the grey dawn, still curled in his place. He raised his head and pricked his ears, thumping his tail on the ground. The light meant that Beric would be there soon. Beric was always there after the light. The pack was still lying asleep in piles about the yard, so perhaps it was still early. But Gelert would wait all the same. The sun climbed into the sky and hung low and bright over the horizon, and Beric’s sire came to feed the pack. The man looked weary, walking about on heavy legs and carelessly throwing the yapping pack their meal. Gelert did not rise, for Beric had not come, and so he caught Cunori’s notice. A dog that did not pounce on his meal was an ill dog indeed. Cunori came toward his son’s hound on even heavier legs and knelt beside him to absently fondle his ears. Gelert snuffled at the man desperately, but did not catch the scent of his master. Only the scent of despair. He whined, and looked up at his master’s sire, asking for Beric, but received only a low-voiced response. “Hey, now, my first son’s hound. If you are hereabouts, then Beric is all alone. I suppose he sent you home, for I’ve never seen you without him nor him without you since the day you were weaned. You’d be at his side still if it were your choice… I would be too if it were mine… But he is gone now.” Then the man was silent. He rose and trudged into the houseplace. Gelert waited for Beric.

 

* * *

 

 

Rhiada woke to the noonday sun warm on his face and the clamor of the dun about its day. For a moment, everything was as usual. Then the reality of the night before came crashing down upon him. The lad was gone, and Rhiada had done naught to prevent it. At least, it felt that way. Deep inside, the blind harper knew that there was nothing he could have done to save Beric from his fate, but the guilt rose like bile in his throat all the same. But there was nothing to be done. Rhiada could only hope that the lad would find someplace better for his life than a clan that did not want him.

Rhiada rose suddenly, throwing off his quilt. He rushed about his little hut, readying himself for the day. A strange urgency pressed in upon him – he must go to see Cunori. He knew not why, nor what he would do when he came; he knew only that he must go. As he hurried through the village, he felt the eyes of those around him. Everyone knew that he had defended the outcast, and that would not be lightly forgiven. Cunori was a different matter, for an adoptive father could not be blamed for being caught in a Red Crest’s spell. He had simply been blinded to his son’s evil by fatherly love. Rhiada, though, was not the boy’s kin, and so his warmth toward Beric could not be attributed to familial duty. Nah. If Rhiada stepped out of line before Beric had been forgotten, he would be next. Lean days always call for blame. Still, Rhiada felt he must visit Beric’s father.

Cunori’s pack gave tongue as Rhiada neared the houseplace, and their owner came out to see what the trouble was. When he saw that it was only Rhiada, he called off the dogs and led Rhiada inside. “Guinear, my woman, do you give our friend a bite to eat while he speaks what is in his mind,” Cunori said gravely as he led Rhiada to sit by the fire. “For surely there must be something.”

As Guinear shuffled about the hut fixing something for their guest, Rhiada replied, “Nah, son of Cuthlyn, my heart holds no words. Only heavy feelings.” Cunori was silent. Guinear sniffed and sighed with muffled tears. “I cannot keep from dwelling upon him… I cannot help but think of him out there…”

“Alone!” sobbed Guinear from the corner.

For a long moment there was only the crackling of the fire and Guinear’s weeping, then Rhiada said hopefully. “At least he has that hound of his. Nothing could ever part them.”

At this, Guinear cried loudly, and Cunori murmured slowly, “He is without the hound. The hound is here.” It seemed to Rhiada that the man had lost the strength to speak. He sounded like death itself. Rhiada’s image of Beric’s plight had changed. He could never have imagined that the lad would leave his dog. It was as if, having lost his home and his people, he had cast off the rest of his identity in a last, hopeless, toss. So when Rhiada asked if he could see the dog, it was as if he had asked to see Beric’s ghost.

Cunori led Rhiada out into the yard all the same, and bade him kneel where the dog lay. Gelert lifted his head only to see who had come, then lowered it to the ground again. “He will not eat, nor move from this place,” Cunori informed the harper in the same dull murmur he had used all day. Rhiada reached out to stroke the dog, threading his fingers through his wiry fur.

“Hello there, Beric’s hound – What was his name?”

“Gelert.”

“Gelert,” Rhiada said kindly to the dog, “Here now, your master has gone, so why haven’t you? I suppose he sent you home. It would be very like that lad to exclude others from his troubles. – Ah but it seems you are rooted down, waiting for him. Still, you should eat. It does no good to starve yourself, for if you do, you may not be here to see Beric come home.”

Cunori gave a strained laugh at Rhiada’s coaxing – strained because it was difficult for the man to bear jollity just then – and said more lightly than he had said anything that day, “I’ll get the beast his meal. Perhaps you have changed his mind.” Then he stood and went to fetch Gelert’s food.

On an impulse, Rhiada loosed his harp from his shoulder and began to strum absently. To his surprise, Gelert thumped his tail at the sound. And so, puzzled but pleased, Rhiada began to play for the strangest audience he had ever had in his life – a single, desolate hound. Rhiada had finished his tune by the time Cunori returned, but it had done its work. Gelert did not go hungry that day.

 

* * *

 

 

Gelert liked the man who sang. He eased the waiting, for he reminded Gelert of Beric. Beric would often hum to himself as they tramped through the fields about the day’s work. And at festival times, Beric would wrestle and dance with him at the edge of the firelight to the tune of that selfsame harp. Music was play. Music was fun. Music was Beric. So, yes, Gelert liked the man who plucked melodies out of animal gut and howled the songs of men. After the first day, the harper came often, and Gelert began to look forward to his coming. When Rhiada was there, Gelert was not lonely. He began to feel as if he had a master again, for Rhiada came as often as one. Perhaps, if Beric did not come, this master would not be so bad. And so it was that one day, more than a moon after Gelert’s long wait for Beric had begun, he realized that he was waiting for Rhiada. When Rhiada stood to make his way back home, Gelert came with him.

 

* * *

 

 

Rhiada did not quite know why he came to play tunes to the dog, but that Gelert had been just as sorry to see Beric go. It was a strange kind of mourning for Beric, perhaps – whiling his afternoons away with the last piece of the lad remaining in the dun. After that first day, Rhiada visited Cunori’s houseplace almost daily, drawn to the hound almost as suitor to his suit. Beric’s dog and he had something in common: they were both missing a part of themselves. Rhiada had no sight and Gelert had no master, and gradually the blind harper came to see that they could fulfill these wants for each other. Both dog and man were lonely, as well, waiting for another to fill their lives. Rhiada thought to himself that he would like having a dog – this dog, if Gelert would have him. But Gelert remained loyal to Beric, who had reared him up from weaning. So Rhiada continued his odd wooing until, after more than a moon, Gelert followed him when he rose to leave.

Startled, at the sound of movement behind him, Rhiada turned and reached a hand out toward Gelert. For the first time, the harper did not need to bend to touch the hound, for Gelert nuzzled a wet nose into Rhiada’s outstretched palm. “Well then,” he huffed, “it seems I have acquired a new addition to the family.” Rhiada continued up the path to Cunori’s living hut with Gelert by his side.

“Cunori, my friend,” Rhiada called when he reached the door.

“Yes, Rhiada?” came the reply.

“I have come to ask leave to take this fine dog of yours.”

Cunori laughed without a sort of grave restraint for the first time since Beric had gone. Rhiada’s canine escapades over the past moon had slowly shaken out Cunori’s grief as the womenfolk shake out the hearth rugs. Cunori was not whole, but he was better. They were all better.

He came to meet Rhiada at the entranceway. “My friend, I thought you would never ask,” he replied, grasping Rhiada’s arm amiably. My first son’s hound will not run with my pack, and he never eats unless you are here. It seems to me that he is yours already.”

Rhiada grinned wider than he had in years and chuckled, “Yes, I suppose he is.”

“It is good, then. Go, you, and take care of my son’s hound,” Cunori said with a warm teasing in his voice.

“I am sure he will take better care of me.”

Rhiada and Gelert traversed the pitted path across the village with a new lightness of step. Having found what they were missing, they could finally be at peace. There was, after all, nothing in life like the love of a good dog. The clan might look ill upon Rhiada adopting the whelp of an outcast – they might cast him out as well – but the blind harper could see that, wherever now they went, they would always be home.


End file.
